


Babes Week July 2020

by LadyStrangeandUnusual (Dream_Wreaver)



Category: Beetlejuice - All Media Types, Beetlejuice - Perfect/Brown & King
Genre: Babesweek Jul 2020, F/M, Musicalbabes, beetlebabes, prompts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-26
Updated: 2020-07-30
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:35:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25530685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dream_Wreaver/pseuds/LadyStrangeandUnusual
Summary: A series of prompts written for Babes Week July 2020, Ratings different for each story so leaving it unrated to be safe.
Relationships: Beetlejuice & Lydia Deetz, Beetlejuice/Lydia Deetz
Comments: 11
Kudos: 59





	1. Firsts

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! Been a while. I have been working on stuff between my summer class but I had to make the exception to focus on babes week. Please be patient, the other wips will be updated post babes week. Thank you for your patience. Enjoy!

It’s hard to have firsts when your partner is an immortal undead demon who’d existed for thousands and thousands of years. Everything under the sun, they’d done many times over. Originality was not precisely a concept that worked with experience. Especially not when the immortal mind was as dark and depraved as her demon’s was. But Lydia was sick. Sick of every first being on her end. First kiss, first time, first love. All only for her. Sure, there were some firsts of hers that he didn’t have a claim to; first crush, first friend, that sort of thing; but there was no firsts that he had and given to her. Was it so wrong for her to want one first? Sure, she technically was his first wife, his first marriage. But that wasn’t the same type of first. Selfishly, she wanted an important first. The first marriage had been borne out of his selfishness, his desire to be human, to know what life was really like. It wasn’t because he had wanted to be with her. And a first had to hold sentimental meaning or else what was the point?

Sure, they’d had a first date after their marriage. Lydia supposed that was sort of special. But was it too much to want one special, meaningful first? Was she simply being greedy? He had so many of her firsts, could she not have at least one in return? A first that meant something? Sometimes she wished she could have a do over, a way to have it so that she could have some important firsts. But it was hard to do that, because she wasn’t the one who could do anything, she couldn’t bend the laws of reality to her will like he could, like he would if only she would ask. All Lydia could do was shape her own world the best she could, and keep him in it.

But being the partner to such an unnatural force, it had its cons along with its pros. And one major con was sometimes feeling so inadequate. Not that Beetlejuice was a prize by any measure, but he was so much more than a mere ordinary mortal. What the hell did something like him, who could if he so desired have anyone he wanted -whether they wanted him or not- see in her? She was a morose, death-obsessed, -dare she say it- child compared to him. She wasn’t the most gorgeous goth in the cemetery either. All she had to do was search her phone to come up with plenty of other goths, men, women, and non-conforming alike who were far more attractive than her. Hell, sometimes she didn’t even feel goth in the fun way. Sure, the macabre and the strange and unusual had always held her interest, but ever since her mother had died there had always been this deeper pain associated with the interest itself. And sometimes Lydia was a bitch, plain and simple. Why the hell did he stick around a morose, moody teen with a bunch of baggage that only made her mood swings even worse?

So what if she had been the first person in a while to see him? That didn’t mean she was the first person in the living world to ever do so. Certainly not with how long he’d been hanging around. The sheer mathematical probability of that, the utter implausibility, was too much to deny. And it pissed her off. Was there no possible way she could be special, that she could have one meaningful, non-returnable first? It didn’t seem so. And so, Lydia did what she always did when she was feeling particularly hopeless; she headed to the roof and contemplated the merits of jumping off. Unlike that first night, these were in no way serious, especially not when she knew what awaited her on the other side. She was in no hurry to return to that abysmal void anytime soon, and she especially wasn’t in any hurry to deal with the mind-melting bureaucracy of the dead. Staring down, feeling the call of the void, was in some manner a way she coped with her thoughts. A way to remind herself that one false step would bring about life-altering consequences. Besides, it gave her a reason to list off reasons to keep living. Her father and Delia, the Maitlands, Beetlejuice taking on Hypatia so that she could keep her life, her cat Percy. Lots of reasons. But tonight, she wasn’t even up for that. Instead she merely sat there, curled up in a little ball at the edge of the roof, just staring blankly at the view below.

It was here that Beetlejuice found her, “Hey Babes,” he greeted while standing behind her, hovering an inch or two above the ground just because he could, “Why the long face?”

Lydia didn’t answer. Which was never a good sign. Even a snarky or bitchy quip was better than the silent treatment. The silent treatment meant something was wrong, and she thought it was his fault. Or, maybe she was just in one of those moods, she got like that sometimes, where she didn’t want to see or speak to anyone. And in those moments he made it his unlife’s mission to make her smile, or frown, or something other than leaving her body behind while her mind wandered elsewhere. So with a pop, he floated up in front of the edge of the roof, pulling off his head for good measure,

“Hey! Lydia!” he shouted, then quieted down, “Something on your mind?” he shook his head about by the hair, making a comical face at the same time. When that failed to garner a response he frowned and put his head back on his shoulders. Normally if she was mad at him for some reason she’d huff, roll her eyes, and pointedly look away from him. As it was though, she barely even looked like she noticed.

Beetlejuice waved a hand in front of her face, trying to see if she was in some sort of catatonic state, “Hello? Earth to Lydia? Come in Babes, where the hell are ya?”

With still no response Beetlejuice shrugged and decided to have fun with it, throwing and morphing his voice so it sounded like he was having a conversation with his wife,

“What’s that Lydia?” he asked, putting a hand to his ear as though he wasn’t sure he’d quite heard her correctly, “You want me to peg you while tied up shirabari style and then we can have a clone orgy with bondage and whips and chains?”

“You bet BJ!” he replied in her voice, if a bit overenthusiastic, “You know me, I just love all that kinky shit, especially pushing people to their deaths off roofs!” he looked over to see if she was paying attention and then added, in a high pitched parody of her voice this time, “Man nothin’ gets me wetter than exacting some physical retribution on people, especially impaling them through the chest with a phallic object!”

Lydia quirked a brow at him, “Really?” she asked him, “You imitated my voice perfectly before and now you choose to mock me?”

“I notice you aren’t denying any of the stuff I said while acting as you though,” Beetlejuice countered with a smirk, “What, you secretly are or something?”

“Who said anything about it being a secret?” Lydia quipped back, “And as for that first thing, I just love watching you get your hopes up before I deny you,”

His face fell at the idea she had let him rant about all manner of perverted acts just to deny him. And despite herself Lydia felt her lips curl into a small smile. She should have known. Beetlejuice -unless they were in a fight where he was purposefully ignoring her- was always the first person to come looking for her when she was upset. And he was always the first person to make her smile no matter what had her feeling down. Firsts. More and more firsts, and all of them his. And suddenly that slight ember of happiness was extinguished, quickly stomped out by the heavy boot of disappointment and dejection. Lydia’s smile fell right off her face and she sighed.

The sudden change in attitude did not go unnoticed by her husband, who raised a brow at her, “Seriously though babes, what’s eatin’ ya?” he paused a moment and then added, “I mean, I know normally that’s me, but somethin’ really seems t’have ya upset.”

“It’s nothing,” Lydia turned her head away from him.

Beetlejuice plopped himself down beside her, “Can’t be nothin’ if it’s got you this blue babes,” he told her, “C’mon, we’re married n’ shit. If ya can’t tell your hubby what’s wrong who can ya tell?”

“This isn’t a husband sort of problem,” Lydia told him.

“But I’m your best friend too,” Beetlejuice pointed out, “I can’t make it better if I don’t know what’s up,”

“The sky,” Lydia shot back, “Now leave me alone.”

“No,” Beetlejuice said firmly, “I left ya once when I thought you’d be better off without me. I ain’t gonna do it again.”

He took her chin in his hand and forced her to look at him, “Tell me what’s wrong,”

“I…” her eyes searched his own, looking for a way to wriggle out of it, “You’re gonna laugh at me.”

“I won’t,” and unlike a lot of promises he’d made to her, he seemed to mean this one.

“It’s just,” Lydia bit her lip, “I’m upset because… because of firsts.”

“Firsts?” Beetlejuice raised a brow at her, “What does that mean?”

“I just,” she sighed, “You were so many of my firsts, my first kiss, my first time,” she cast her gaze down and looked away from him, “And I… I don’t have any of yours. It’s silly, I know. To be upset about something like that. You’re a demon, you’ve been around for hundreds, if not thousands, of years. Of course you’d have more experience than me. But that made me feel like, what is it that you see in me? I’m just some death obsessed girl with mommy issues and suicidal thoughts. What reason could you possibly have for sticking around?” 

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Beetlejuice asked her after a moment of silence, “Lydia, there’s plenty of reasons for a guy like me to hang around a gal like you. And as for firsts, you think I ever got married before?”

“That wasn’t a meaningful first,” Lydia told him, “You only married me to get a green card into living.”

“That’s bullshit and you know it,” Beetlejuice told her, “You really think that I wanted life? Fuck no, I wanted a way to stay by your side. And I thought,” he huffed, “I thought livin’ would let me do that.” he forced her to look at him again, “You think I’d do that for any run of the mill breather?”

“Well…”

“Lydia, most people go around so concerned with their stupid little lives they don’t notice anything besides what’s right in front of ‘em. I’ve known a few people who had connections with the dead, but none as strong as you. No one but you has ever been able to see me without being dead first. You think that’s not an important first? You think you being the first person I ever considered hitching myself to -living _or_ dead- isn’t an important first? Sex don’t mean shit to a demon, it’s as common as shaking hands. Staying _is_ something though. It _means_ something. And don’t you think it means something that you’re the first person I’ve ever _wanted_ to stay with?”

Lydia felt tears well in her eyes and her lower lip quiver, “Well… I -”

“Lydia,” Beetlejuice grabbed her by the shoulders and held her tight, “I love you.” The words hung in the air a moment, the weight of such a confession in this situation drowning out all other noise, “Doesn’t that first mean anything?”

If the profession of love hadn’t been shell shocking, the idea that she was the first person he’d ever loved was. And Lydia couldn’t quite believe it, “I-” she stammered, “I’m the first person you’ve ever loved?”

“Of course you are,” Beetlejuice replied, “How could you ever doubt that?”

“I- I’m your first,” she said quietly, “I can’t believe it.”

“You’d better learn how then,” Beetlejuice told her, placing a kiss on the crown of her head, “Because for once in my afterlife, I’m telling the truth.”

“You mean it?” she looked up to him, eyes wide and shining with unshed tears, first of sorrow and now of happiness.

“With every scrap of my beatless heart,” he affirmed.

“Oh Beej,” she sobbed a moment, before cupping his face in her hands and pulling him into a kiss. So many emotions were poured into it, love, sorrow, joy, desire, elation. When she broke apart from him for air she curled her arms around his and leaned her head against his shoulder. Though it was addressed to him it was into the night she spoke,

“You’re my first love too.”


	2. Dreams

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is honestly my favorite one I've got done so far, hope you like it!

He would call to her in dreams, from beyond the world she called her own. The deep mists of eternity, the blackness of the nocturnal void. All of them his playthings, the inner workings of her unconscious mind his to manipulate, to exploit. A world that had once scared Lydia, traumatized her with the revelation that wherever her mother was, there was no way to get her back, or to be with her, became beautiful. Castles made out of spiraling smoke, whirling landscapes of stripes and sand, outfits that defied the laws of reality. And all of them for her. He claimed that though even he was bound by some rules, in this place, he ruled over all. And every night he would come for her. Beckon her to his side.

“Why do you do this?” she once asked him.

“You already know why,” was his answer. But in truth, she didn’t know. She didn’t know, and she didn’t ask a second time.

Beetlejuice was not a creature of dreams. In fact, he was more the stuff of nightmares. But Lydia found she preferred him to the nightmarish memories that had often replayed in her head before his return. Memories of cold and unending loneliness, trapped in the abyss, with nothing ahead of her, and only ruin behind her. No light, no hope, no nothing. Dreams that would leave her shaking in panic, tears streaming down her face, and an erratic heartbeat that threatened to burst and send her back there, this time for good.

She remembered how one had ended, that night, the worst nightmare of her life. She had seen her mother, once again. But it wasn’t really her mother, as she’d stood there in the endless darkness, the woman who had given her birth had only fuzzy features and the vaguest resemblance to her mother. The motions felt stiff, and mechanical as arms had wrapped around her while she sobbed tears of joy at finally _finally_ seeing her again. And then she saw it. Eyes glowing in the darkness, hellish red and leering. And Lydia had realized, whatever that thing was, it was not her mother. And neither was the doll she was holding. Lydia had thrown herself away from the doll that had looked like her mother, just in time to watch the figure go limp before straightening up. Just a trick, an illusion, a puppet on strings. And from the darkness those eyes drew closer, growing larger, growing taller. Until at last the light revealed them for what they truly were. A massive creature, striped and serpentine, with a piled coiffure of graying hair and those old lady glasses Lydia had only ever associated with spinsters and hardass old business broads. A sickening smile crossed the creature’s face, and smoke emitted from a slit located under the massive maw. And that was when Lydia realized. She knew this monster. It was… it was… _her_. _His_ mother.

A giant hand had come out of nowhere and put a cigarette to mouth, smoke from the slit throat wafting around her, obscuring her way. The Dragon Lady looked like she’d taken control of the sandworm that had eaten her, merging with it so her lower half was a red and white striped tail slithering out from below the business suit and skirt. And as her head descended from her neck she realized they’d merged there too. The other massive hand played with its fingers, mimicking the handle of a marionette and the not dead mom doll moved in tandem.

“What’s the matter little girl,” the woman had hissed, smoke surrounding the two of them, “Scared of what might be lurking in the _dark_?”

Her head had reared back and lunged, and Lydia had ran, hearing the snap of gnashing jaw and the clicking of sharp teeth just behind her. But in this nightmare hellscape, there was nowhere to go, and nowhere to hide. Only an eternity of running until she woke, or she got caught. Lydia wanted to believe that it was nothing more than a dream. A night terror, something she’d experienced before. But if this was a dream, it was hell to wake from. And she couldn’t force herself to do it. Nor could she change the dream so that she didn’t risk dying. But her legs grew tired even as her heart pounded faster and faster. Lydia was afraid, she was afraid she was going to die. Afraid she was going to die and remain a plaything for this hellish creature for all eternity. She called out for help. She called _his_ name. But between the sound of her own frantic pounding heart, the taunts and gnashing of her pursuer, Lydia couldn’t hear herself scream. How many times had she said his name? Once? Or twice? Or the dreaded three, the three that would let him once again take full control.

Lydia didn’t know. What she did know was that just when it seemed she was well and truly done for, she woke up. Whether that was due to who she had summoned for help or her own reflex reactions to even a mental near death experience, she also didn’t know. But her heart had been beating wildly, her chest had been heaving, and her head and sheets had been slicked with sweat. Lydia went to school that morning with dark circles under her eyes, unable to return to sleep after that. That very next night, and every night since, he had been there.

Sometimes, he showed up to guide her somewhere, show her something. Sometimes, they played a game where he would hide and if she wanted the dream to progress she would have to seek him out. Sometimes… sometimes he left her alone, but never on her own. She could feel his eyes watching her in the darkness, knowing that no corner she could turn without him knowing _exactly_ where she was. It should have frightened her. It didn’t. She knew that to an ordinary person that would mean there was something psychologically, perhaps fatally wrong with her. But then, a normal person typically didn’t believe in ghosts, or in existence after death. They most certainly didn’t believe in demons that could be summoned by saying their name three times, made vulnerable through marriage to a living person, and killed once turned human and returned to their undead demonic state. And even if they had, a normal person would fear the anger of such an entity they by all accounts had wronged. But Lydia Deetz was anything but normal.

She felt no fear, or anger from him. Just a darkness that, like him, should have made her frightened. But it didn’t. Lydia didn’t know what to call the feeling it evoked in her, maybe she left it nebulous and ambiguous on purpose. Who could say? But every night, he would call, and she would go. Was he free? Was he still trapped? Lydia wasn’t sure she wanted to know. He still seemed to have all his powers, but she never saw him in the waking world. If he was free, wouldn’t he have manifested by now?

More and more questions piled up, and Lydia found herself more and more unable to ignore them in favor of the fantastical world he showed her each night. And so she asked him,

“Are you free?”

“Depends on what you mean by free,” had been his answer.

“Are you… out?” she tried again, hoping she would get an answer beyond vague platitudes or questions aimed at her instead, “Is all of this real? Is this… the Netherworld? Or is this all just a dream?”

“It’s whatever you make of it babes,” Beetlejuice replied, “A dream, reality, some weird hybrid abomination of the two. The world’s a lot more complicated than you breathers seem to think it is. The afterlife even more so.”

“So what is this then?” Lydia pressed on, “Some type of twisted revenge? Your way of fucking with me because I fucked you over?”

“Believe me baby, if I wanted to fuck you over there are plenty of ways I could have done that, starting with letting mommy fearest take you back to that endless pit that steals all shreds of happiness and hope and leave you to rot there.”

“Then what do you want?”

“Let’s just say that it does involve the words fuck, and you, perhaps in that order, but who’s to say?” he shrugged.

“Just give me an actual answer,” she huffed. They were walking through a forest of twisted, gnarled ebony trees. Some of them with faint white stripes ringing their trunks. She didn’t know why he’d brought her here. But she wasn’t about to say a word against it. Even though this was her… dream, for lack of a better word, she held no illusions that he had all the control, “Are you free? Or are you still stuck in the Netherworld? And if you are free, how come I only see you at night? How come you’re not out causing chaos like I thought you wanted to?”

He smirked at her, shaking his head as if amused that she didn’t quite get it, whatever it was to get, “Who says I’m not?” he asked her in reply, “And as for why I’m not there in the daytime… you have a life in the daytime.”

“What does that even mean?”

“It means,” Beetlejuice said as he stopped and loomed over her, leering grin on his face, “I let them have you in the day, because at night; you’re _mine_.”

Lydia felt her heart pound, but for a reason far different than fear. There was something important in those words. Something meaningful. Ownership, propriety, things she should have bristled at. Things she normally _would_ have. And yet, for some reason, she didn’t. Not when he said them.

“So is that what this is about?” Lydia asked him, “Exerting some sort of weird claim over me? Is that why you drag me here every single night?”

“I don’t drag you anywhere Lydia,” Beetlejuice informed her, “I call, and you come. You have every ability to ignore it if you don’t want it. But we both know that you do.”

“Want _what_?” Lydia said, desperation lacing both words, “You’re speaking in circles!”

Again, he chuckled, low and throaty and the sound sent shivers of awareness down her spine, “No Lydia,” he told her, “I’m not exerting any claim on you. Because there’s no claim to make.”

“But-” she wanted to point out they’d gotten married, that he’d come to life. But then… then she’d killed him. ‘Til death do us part. So what was all this about?

“I’m guiding you,” he answered her earlier question, “So that you’ll know the way.”

“Know the way?” the more he talked, the less sense he made. Which, to be fair, was simply par for the course for Beetlejuice. But this was too poetic, too enigmatic for him. And whatever he was getting at, it couldn’t be good, “What way? And why?”

But he continued smiling that insufferable smirk, “You’ll know,” he told her.

“Know _what_?” she shot back, “I don’t know _anything_!”

“You know far more than you believe you do,” Beetlejuice reminded her, “But you’re in denial about what you want.”

“And you think _you_ know?” Lydia raised a brow at him, hands now resting on her hips.

“Of course I do,” he chided smugly, “I know everything about you.”

“And that isn’t creepy at all,”

“You once told me you loved creepy old guys,”

“I lied.”

“Did you?”

It was a tone that suggested she was lying now and they both knew it. A tone of superiority, that wasn’t it cute how she thought herself clever. But he saw through her. Except, Lydia refused to budge. Refused to even let her facial expression change lest something in it give her away. A silent moment passed between them and then Beetlejuice shrugged,

“Fine, be that way, but we both know who’ll be right in the end.”

“Oh will we now?”

“Yes,” and there was that aura of darkness around him again, an aura that spoke of forbidden desires, and ruthless decimation, “Because Lydia Deetz, you will come.”

“Do I have a choice?” Lydia asked, “Seems you’re the one in control. You call, I come.”

“Oh you’ll come,” Beetlejuice told her, like he was some sort of prophet offering her future, “But it’ll be because _you_ want to come.”

“I can assure you I won’t,” Lydia shot back.

And with that, the dream broke. She woke in her bed, staring at the ceiling. Stupid smug bastard demon. Who did he think he was? Pulling her into some weird in between world every single night and then claiming she was coming because she wanted to be called? To claim that even without him calling she would come? It was just a stupid mind trick. Something made to mess with her head. Perhaps it was all a trick, a way to spook her into calling for him and actually setting him free. He’d been very evasive on whether or not he was still trapped. Maybe it was a way of making her try to test it, try to send him back and oops, she accidentally set him free. What an ass, claiming he knew her better than she knew herself. _Nobody_ knew Lydia Deetz better than she knew herself. It didn’t matter, she was sure that come nightfall, he’d be standing there, insufferably smug as always, making some joke about how he knew she couldn’t stay away; when the reality was that yet again, he’d called and she’d had no choice but to follow.

Lydia didn’t dream that night. If she slept, she couldn’t tell. But she knew that she didn’t dream. There was no Beetlejuice, no vast and bizarre landscape that seemed like anything could come from it. Not even any monsters there to set her heart racing and prey upon her traumatic memories. Dark circles became more pronounced. Her mind wandered, her thoughts were scattered. Two more nights this repeated, and Lydia felt like she was losing her mind. Was he really gone? Had this all been nothing more than a way to fuck with her? She didn’t know, but she needed to find out. Cursory internet searches were not fruitful, but they attempted to provide a cure for her lack of dreams. They all failed, Lydia Deetz felt herself losing sleep, and potentially losing sanity. Fine, if he wanted to play that way, she would play his game. She would go, not because she wanted to, but because he was leaving her no other choice.

She refused to admit that she missed the bizarre dreams, with incredible landscapes, and unfathomable wildlife. She refused to admit she missed the swirling, spiraling buildings that seemed to reach forever into the sky. And she absolutely, adamantly, refused to admit she’d… gotten used to his continued presence in her dreams. Lydia was not returning because she wanted to see him, she was going after him because she wanted her ability to dream _back_ and he had no right taking it from her in the first place. She got dressed that night in her comfiest pajamas, lit a stick of lavender incense to help her fall asleep easier, and settled in against her pillows. Unlike the past three nights where if she fell asleep it was lost in a half awake blur of tossing and turning while time slipped away, this felt more akin to submerging herself inside a warm and deep bath, sinking beneath the waves to a place of dangerous peace. A peace that ran the very real risk of never breaking, a dream that ran the risk of never waking.

When Lydia opened her eyes again she found herself standing in that abyss of infinite darkness. But unlike her nightmares, or even her dreams, this place did not feel cold and oppressive. She stood there and looked around, and like a warmth settling in her chest as she looked in one specific direction she felt pulled to follow it. Each step brought the world around her into sharper and sharper relief, the forests, the deserts, the twisting spires. All of them places she had visited before. But Lydia kept walking. They were landmarks, not her destination. She walked on, knowing that damn him, Beetlejuice had been right. He’d been showing her the way, to get where she needed to go. The building she arrived at seemed at first glance to be nothing more than a single doorway trapped at the very edge of this very strange and unusual world. But inside she saw a cathedral of indescribable beauty. Macabre to be sure, but beautiful nonetheless. And when her gaze returned to the floor, there he was. Beetlejuice.

“About time you showed up,” he told her, “You were almost late,”

“Late?” Lydia questioned, “Late for what?”

“Why, your wedding of course,” in the blink of an eye he went from his signature stripes to a slightly better tailored red wedding suit. So reminiscent of the one he’d wed her in the first time, but different, better perhaps. He offered his arm to her and said, “Shall we?”

When Lydia looked down her pajamas had since been replaced with a red wedding dress. But unlike the one Miss Argentina had lent to her, this one was fitting of who she’d become. Better tailored, slightly less poofy, with a jeweled belt resting just below her breasts and ending the bodice, black spiderweb threading starting at one side of the skirt and slanting its way across, and black fingerless gloves with that same red netting traveling up her arms. The collar around her neck kept the dress attached to her body, and was secured with what looked to be a spider brooch resting in the hollow of her collarbone. Her short, choppy hair was adorned with a shimmering tiara, silver skulls winking with rubies and garnets for eyes, and a multilayered red veil with one train so long it fell down past her skirt and trailed a short distance behind her. She looked beautiful, she felt eerily calm. Too calm perhaps, for what he was implying. He was implicating marriage for the two of them, again. Without her family or friends, perhaps this time to avoid any undue interruptions. Could marrying him a second time bring him back to life? Or was this about something else? Lydia didn’t know, but as the bouquet appeared in her hand she realized it didn’t matter.

They went down the aisle arm in arm, where a preacher with no eyes in his empty sockets awaited them. They said their vows, and Beetlejuice presented her with a stunning ring. Black metal band with a blood red gem on it. With a grace and care she never would have thought him capable of he slid it onto her finger. A matching band appeared in her own hand and she slid it onto his. They were vowed, trothed, and as the preacher pronounced them for a second time man and wife, irrevocably wed. This had been what he’d meant when he’d said Lydia would come, of her own volition. Anger may have fueled her first step, but as she passed she had realized what this was all about. It was never about out, never about life, it was about love and ownership of it. Something they had both been denying the first go around. It had been why she’d called him when her worst fears had manifested in her mind, why he continued to show up night after night to protect and abide by her, why when she rebuffed him the nighttime was no longer a place of comfort and belonging. And it was why when she had finally made the decision to go after him -surface reasonings aside- the pathway had finally opened up to her. Lydia no longer cared if this was all nothing more than a dream, as she kissed him and he embraced her, nothing had ever felt more real.

That very next morning Lydia awoke feeling more rested than she had in a long, long time. But waking up to a sunny room and no grinning demon at her side was a let down compared to how she had ended the night. Stretching to work out the kinks in her spine Lydia felt her fingers brush up against something warm but decidedly not her own skin. She drew her left hand down to see it. There, on her ring finger; a single black band, with a blood red gem glowing on it. As she smiled, Lydia swore she could hear him cackle in triumph.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave a comment and let me know what you thought. Thank you so much for reading and I'll see you tomorrow babes!


	3. Gift

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you all enjoy today's installment of Babes Week!

The thing about demons was that they were selfish. They took without care for whose it was, or who would get hurt by their actions. Self-serving was in their very nature. It had been why Beetlejuice had used Lydia for his own ends. Though even he himself would sometimes question what those ends had really been. But this was different, because Lydia was different. She didn’t make him a better person, at times it was said that he was corrupting her, but she did bring out the best in him, however minutely it was compared to his normal asshole self that was. She made him want to do good, so she could be proud to call him her husband. It was a strange feeling, the feeling of wanting to make someone proud of you. A feeling he thought he’d given up on achieving long ago when it had become more than apparent that getting parental approval and pride was something that was never going to happen. He thought he’d relish in causing those people pain, stress, and embarrassment, and to a certain extent he still did. But then came Lydia. Lydia who made him feel it was worth it to once again try. And Lydia who was worth trying _for_. And that was his problem at the moment. Lydia was worth trying for. Which brought about the anxiety and fear of disappointing her.

Normally her censure was not precisely something that bothered him. They fought all the time, about the littlest, stupidest things. But none of it was usually meant in sincerity. They simply both had combative natures that worked the best off trading witty insults and sharp remarks. They usually ended up working it out -usually in more physical and less verbal means- by the end of the night. Very rarely did he actually hurt her, and rarer still did he not try to make it right. She had less worry about that since he was a demon, and the worst of humanity was nothing he couldn’t handle, aside from the anger, resentment, and sadness which had occurred when she’d inadvertently indicated their friendship at the time meant nothing, and her mother was more important. Therapy and some harsh reality had cured her of that issue in regards to him though, so mostly it was nothing to worry about.

But this wasn’t about any of that. It was about Lydia, more specifically Lydia within the context of their anniversary. It was their first one, and Beetlejuice was nervous. How could he possibly hope to give her a gift worthy of an entire year of commitment and friendship, and love. But what? One of his first thoughts had been to give her the gift she’d been searching for, her dead mom. But Tina had yet to come through for him on that, and for once in his afterlife, he wasn’t going to rest on his laurels to get out of a jam. If he didn’t have news yet, he couldn’t count on Tina coming through at the last minute to save his skin. Which meant he needed to think of something else in the meantime. But that brought him back to square one; which was what? He could get her a new camera, but that didn’t feel special enough. Jewelry? Always a good gift but kind of impersonal, he could get the same thing for Babs or Red and it would mean about as much. Dead roses? A nice thought but flowers were the standard of basic gifts; expected, accepted, but ultimately symbolizing nothing. He supposed graverobbing for a gift might impress her, but she would ultimately probably not like the fact that he’d disturbed some asshole’s mortal remains to get her a gift.

The more he tried to think up potential ideas, the more they seemed trite, tired, cliche, and lame. And Beetlejuice was nothing but a consummate showman, he _lived_ , well, _died_ , to impress. Anything less than the perfect gift was something he couldn’t stand for. But his anxiety was starting to be noticeable. Even the other members of the household grew concerned. It took up until the week before the date for one of them to grow the balls to ask him about it though. Except, when he explained his issue, they seemed… mildly sympathetic? At least, Red and the Maitlands did. Chuck remained firmly unimpressed, but then he was the only one in the house who held a direct relation to his wife and the object of his turmoil.

“Beetlejuice,” Barbara tried to comfort him, “I’m sure that whatever you get her, she’ll love because she’ll know you were thinking of her,”

“Anniversaries aren’t about the presents,” Adam hesitantly put a hand on his shoulder in solidarity, “They’re about the thought. The celebration of being together. Relationships are hard work, that should be what the focus is, not on the value of the gift.”

“My ex-husband used to get me all kinds of extravagant gifts,” Delia chimed in, “But it never made up for the love I wanted that he couldn’t give me. A gift from the heart is worth far more than anything from a store. Instead of worrying about what to get her, why not spend time with her? Plan a day out, do things _she’d_ like doing and do them with her. I mean, you _do_ know what she likes to do with her time, right?”

“Well of course!” Beetlejuice snapped back at the woman, but as he floated off to skulk and plan he wondered, did he really know his wife? Sure, there were plenty of things they liked to do together, sex, horror movies, walks in the cemetery, photo hunts, um… wow. Was that really it? He felt like he knew a lot less about Lydia than he should as her husband.

He had spent far too much time watching people be in relationships; they knew things about each other, stupid meaningless little things. Like favorite colors, favorite seasons, foods, eye colors, stuff like that. But as he looked at his reflection and tried to quiz himself on Lydia in the same manner, he couldn’t help but feel he was falling a little flat. Sure, he didn't exactly _like_ some of that stuff, but Lydia always made it worth his while; whether through reminding him there were plenty of bugs available to snack on, or through other more salacious means. But how to incorporate that into a gift for her? Hm, he wondered… and then he had an idea. But in order to pull it off, he would need to know a couple things. And he was sure Chuck would tell him if he just asked, but part of the fun was scaring the information -and the crap- out of him.

BJ BJ BJ

The day of their anniversary, Lydia woke up to Beetlejuice just standing over her bed, watching her expectantly.

“Good morning creep,” she yawned as she stretched, “Since when are you one to leave me sleeping naked all by myself?”

“It’s our anniversary,” Beetlejuice replied as if that explained it all.

“And?” Lydia raised a brow at him, sitting up and arching her back as the blanket slipped down to her waist, “Since when is a holiday an excuse for you to go without morning sex? If anything, it being our anniversary I thought you would have been all over me again by now.”

He grumbled a little and averted his eyes. If she didn’t know any better she’d swear he was being bashful. Beetlejuice muttered something under his breath, probably a swear word, and then addressed her, “If you don’t get your ass in gear I’m gonna, and then we’re gonna spend all day in here and as amazingly fucking awesome as that sounds I kind of had other plans for today. So let’s go before I change my mind.”

Her brow remained raised, but she slid out of bed. Once she was dressed and ready to go he offered her his hand. Skeptical as always Lydia looked to him, “Where are you taking me?” she asked him.

“I’m taking you to your present,” Beetlejuice told her, “I got it all set up, but we gotta travel to it,”

“And I’m supposed to trust you?” Lydia asked him, folding her arms and pushing up her chest as she did so.

“Do you want the damn gift or not?” Beetlejuice asked her in response, “Because, we could go the mortal way, but by the time we get there the day’ll be over,”

Lydia bit her lip in thought for a moment, apparently unknowing of what she was doing to him as she did so. Damn it, did every little thing she did have to work him up so badly? He was about to say screw his present let’s fuck like rabbits but then that would mean all the effort he’d gone to would go to waste. And he hated feeling like he’d done something for nothing, even if Lydia screaming in ecstasy would be a fair trade off.

“Alright,” Lydia nodded, taking his hand, “Since you seem to be so eager to give me this present I’ll trust you. I suppose even you wouldn’t pull a prank on our anniversary, that’s a one way ticket to no sex for a month at _least_.”

“Alright then, hold on,” he scooped her up in his arms and with a blink they had arrived. In a cemetery, Lydia looked around,

“You needed to hold me to bring me to the cemetery?” she asked as he set her down.

“It’s not just any cemetery,” Beetlejuice told her, “Don’t you recognize this place?”

She looked around. As much as she loved cemeteries, they tended the blur together after you went to more than about five. Hills and headstones all laid out around winding roads and pathways. A good place to wander and to take photos, but not really anything unique. Yes, it did seem familiar, and then it hit her,

“Are we… in New York?” she asked him, unable to believe he would have brought her here.

Instead of answering, Beetlejuice merely pointed somewhere else, and that was when she saw it. Her mother’s grave, clean and decorated, and a small picnic with candles and black roses set up besides the stone. It was, unlike anything she’d ever seen.

“Is this-” Lydia couldn’t believe it, “Is this for me?”

“Happy anniversary Lydia,” Beetlejuice told her, “Wanted t’getcha somethin’ special, and since I couldn’t getcha actual dead mom…” he shrugged, “Thought this might be nice too.”

Lydia was touched. She knew his abilities, she knew he could conjure up just about anything material wise or steal it if she wanted it. But there wasn’t much she wanted, or needed, thanks to being the only daughter of a wealthy New York real estate tycoon. All she had wanted since her mother had died had been to see her again, to spend time with her. And from his words it seemed that Beej had certainly tried for her. But, it hadn’t worked, much to his obvious dismay and terse reference to it. So instead, he’d gotten her the next best thing, a chance to spend time with what remained of Dead Mom. It was the sweetest thing she’d ever had done for her, and more than likely the sweetest thing he’d ever done for anyone. Her own gift for him felt almost tawdry by comparison, but she was certain he’d like it regardless.

They spent the entire afternoon snacking and talking. Lydia told stories about her mother and made Beetlejuice laughed. Beetlejuice for his part listened, and apologized for freaking out on her when she’d been so preoccupied with her mother’s death.

“If I hadda mom like that, I wouldda jumped into Hell to find her too,”

The hours dwindled away, sinking with the sun as it began to set over the city horizon. It was so easy to forget they were even in New York with how far removed they were from the hustle and bustle and constant commotion from the city. And Lydia felt so happy, and peaceful as she took in the view of the necropolis as a slight breeze stirred her hair. All the jewelry and flowers in the world couldn’t have even begun to compare to the treasured memories of this gift her husband had given to her. She sighed, in happiness and contentment as she sat between her husband and her mother’s grave stone.

“This was a wonderful anniversary Beej,” she pressed a kiss against his cheek, “Thank you.”

“Anything for you babes,” Beetlejuice told her. He was wondering what she might have for him, but wouldn’t it be more than a little rude to ask? But hell, since when had he cared about being polite, “Can’t wait to see whatcha got me,”

“You don’t have to,” Lydia gave him a devious smile, “I’ve had it this whole time,”

“Really?” immediately his eyes lit up like a puppy’s, eager and excited, “Where is it?”

Lydia bit her lip as her smile grew wider, “Well, originally,” she began, slowly inching up the hem of her dress’ skirt, “I just wanted to give you something I knew we’d _both_ enjoy,” it was now riding just past her knee as she spoke, “But after you gave me the gift of a wonderful memory, I’d like to do the same for you,”

Her skirt was now high enough that she spread her legs open to show off the black and white striped garters to the stockings she was wearing. And above them, a matching set of panties. And sweet satan below was she implying what he thought she was implying?

“So,” she leaned back, until she was resting on the ground, her mother’s tombstone almost acting like a headboard, “Wanna help me pull a Mary Shelley?”

His grin turned feral. Yes, apparently she was. And for his anniversary, Beetlejuice could honestly think of no better gift he could have ever asked for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave a comment and let me know what you thought. Thank you so much for reading and I'll see you tomorrow babes!


	4. Magic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gonna be honest, this is about where I ended in terms of having prompts ready to go. Gotta love school! Anyways, hope you like it!

Perhaps she was a bit jaded, but Lydia didn’t think her marriage to Beetlejuice came with any real benefits for her. Well, besides the benefit of having a nymphomaniac demonic husband who knew a hundred and one ways to eat beetles and fuck her til she screamed. Yes, she supposed those were benefits, but it wasn’t like she’d gained anything the way he’d gained a life, however brief it was. It wasn’t like she’d been expecting that, but the title of cursed bride had to mean more than just, anchor for a soul’s living existence. Didn’t it? Or was she just being a bit over dramatic, having read one too many paranormal romance novels?

Maybe it was the latter, since every one she remembered ever getting her hands on had talked about some sort of equivalent exchange that such a union would provide to the human partner. Even if vampires were the typical monster of choice, those came with the offer for these -in her opinion- weak willed female protagonists to shed the expectations of society, strip themselves of all that burdened them, and give into the dark not just for love, but for the power that love would give them. Didn’t it work the same with demons? And perhaps this was simply wishful thinking, but if so many people had written it like that, didn’t that mean it had to be based on at least a kernel of truth? Then again, monster romance novels were very seldom about actually taking power through love. It was all the same beauty and the beast trope where love was a transformative aspect, making a man -or woman- out of a monster. Basically, it was taking back power in the only way women in male-dominated societies could, and had for centuries. The difference was, Lydia had absolutely no desire to change Beetlejuice. He was an asshole; he was rude, crude, undeniably lewd, and she loved him just the same. She wanted this power for herself, to raise herself up not to be a match against him, but a power to him. There was a difference.

But asking him, he’d tell her he already had magic, “Ain’t just any breather who can see the dead Babes. Whatcha got there, is something special.”

And Lydia supposed he was right. She wasn’t like anyone else that she knew. Well, no one _living_ at least. That in and of itself was a sort of magic she guessed. But did it have to feel so lackluster and isolating? Maybe she’d be able to deal with it if it was something that set her apart as something extraordinary, instead of just some freak who could see dead people. Not that she ever really wanted to fit in with the normal people, but it was easier not to internalize their judgement when she had something she knew she could shoot back at them. Sure, she had friends on the other side, but what could she do with them? Her power was not truly her own. Maybe if she could call on the dead, that would be different. But it didn’t work like that, she just happened to stumble on dead people if they were still hanging around and that was it. Was it so wrong to want a power that was all her own?

It was as she pondered this during a walk with her husband in the graveyard that Beetlejuice stopped suddenly and touched down from where he’d been floating beside her,

“By the way Babes,” he began suddenly, “I did a bit more digging around the inter-special marriage contracts and bylaws and found something interesting,”

“Oh did you now?” Lydia raised a brow at him, pausing in her lens-spotting to fold her arms at him, “And what, may I ask, prompted this?”

“You always seemed so down at the fact that you’re, well,” he shrugged, “You. And just for the record I think you are the sexiest most chaotic bitch in this life and the next.”

“I have the feeling I’m supposed to take that as a compliment,” Lydia remarked, “But go on,”

“But you wanted to have something besides the most eligible bachelor since Valentino crossed over, and I found out that the green card status goes both ways,”

“What?” Lydia was relatively certain as to what he was hinting at, but she still wanted to hear him say it since he was the one who had done the work, for once in his unlife that was.

From out of his suit pocket he pulled a scrap of paper and handed it to her, “Read this Lydia,”

She took the scrap and held it aloft, reading it aloud as her eyes scanned the words,

“Though I know I should be wary, still I venture someplace scary, spectral hauntings I turn loose; Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice, _BEETLEJUICE!_ ”

From out of nowhere lightning flashed, tearing across the sky as dark clouds gathered overhead. The flashes struck the ground, tearing it apart and flinging dirt into the air as deep crevices were left. Strange, impossible buildings rose and twisted from the ground like a time lapse of a growing tree. The road lifted from the ground until it was suspended by tiny platforms, defying gravity and more resembling a roller coaster track than an actual road. The hazy blue sky turned a strange miasma of pinkish purple yellow. And then Lydia looked down; knee high socks of red and black stripes clambered up her legs, only barely visible beneath the voluminous knee skirt she sported, black of course. And above that, was this some kind of poncho? She noticed it had sleeves that ended at her elbows, long mesh gloves covering the rest of her arms. And as she felt around she noticed a hood in the back, along with a tiny spider barrette pinning back some of her hair. The poncho itself was red, bright red with a black spiderweb design, all in all, as she considered it, it wasn’t half bad a look. It certainly made her _feel_ more at home in this strange place, wherever it was.

“Where are we Beej?” she turned to her husband and asked him.

“The Neitherworld Babes,” Beetlejuice told her, “Home to every specter who got tired of the infinite abyss of the Netherworld. Think of it as Life 2.0, with a couple of creepy twists and all.”

“And we get to… we get to come here?” she couldn’t believe it. This was incredible!”

“Whenever you want,” Beetlejuice promised, “Now, how’s that for magic?”

“What?”

“Whenever you wanna come to the Neitherworld, you just gotta say that little incantation I gave ya and then we’re in like flynn.”

“And I take it the lynchpin is your name, right?”

“Naturally,” Beetlejuice pulled at his lapels, “Green card works both ways now don’t it?”

“So you’re saying, because of my marriage to you, I have the power to come here whenever I want?”

“Right-o babes,” Beetlejuice nodded, “And it’s not my power takin’ ya here either. So, whaddya say? Ready to explore what the afterlife’s got on offer?”

And so they did. He took her all over the major city and introduced her to some of the best spots. They made some friends along the way, but mostly they made a whole lot of enemies as Beetlejuice couldn’t resist the temptation to screw with just about everyone they came into contact with. Which was how they ended up running from the cops after stiffing the shopkeep of a store for the Neitherworld equivalent of a soda bar. Lydia had to leave her eye scream behind as Beetlejuice yanked her by the arm and started running with her in tow. They darted down alleyways and side streets trying to lose the police. And yet, despite the chaos, despite the danger, despite not even getting to try a bite of her treat; Lydia was laughing.

“I get you’re havin’ a good time Babes,” Beetlejuice said as he pulled her into his arms and lifted them off the ground, “But ya might wanna say those B words and send us back home before we land in hot water, literally!”

Three words later they landed back in her bedroom in Winter River. Lydia’s outfit dissipated with the rest of the world, but she couldn’t stop laughing. That had all been so much _fun_! And as he sat there on the floor with Lydia in his arms, Beetlejuice couldn’t help busting out into cackles too. When they had both recovered enough for some talking Beetlejuice nudged her,

“So Lydia,” he began, “What didja think?”

“It was,” Lydia shook her head helplessly and shrugged, a big smile on her face the entire time, “Magical.”

She placed a kiss against his cheek and held the other side of his face with her hand, “Thank you,” she told him.

He blustered and fobbed it off like it was no big thing even though he’d clearly gone to a lot of trouble in order to dig up some bylaw or loophole that would give her this gift to traverse between the worlds as easily as he did. But in the end, he shot her a feral smirk and said, “That was nothin’,”

Then he scooped her up and tossed her onto her bed, clambering over her as one hand reached to loosen the knot on his tie, “Now, ready to see some _real_ magic?”

“I’ll be seeing something alright,” Lydia matched his leer with one of her own, “But I’m not sure it’s gonna be magic,” then she leaned up closer and whispered, “I think with you around, the only thing I’ll be seeing, is _stars_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave a comment and let me know what you thought, thank you so much for reading and hopefully I'll see you tomorrow babes!


	5. College

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one's a bit late, I wasn't done with it like I said yesterday so this got finished a bit later. Hope you still enjoy it!

Of all the people Lydia Deetz could have been paired with, none compared to the hell that was being college roommates with Claire Brewster. One might think that both being the daughters of rich and influential business men they’d be able to bribe the school into single rooms, even as freshmen. But you’d be wrong. Seeing as they were from the same town, and had graduated from the same school and were now going to the same college, the people in charge of room assignments decided that they would already get along and thus stuck them together in a room smaller than either of them had ever had on their own. And these self same people now expected them to share it.

To be fair the room itself was actually rather spacious compared to rooms a lot of other students may have been used to at home. But when you had a girl who lived in a classic haunted victorian that had been renovated to expand on the space of all the rooms, and a girl who had never had anything less than her own entire wing as her personal space, plus the fact that these girls were opposites aesthetically and enemies personality-wise then the room felt infinitely smaller than it actually was. The tension was suffocating, and unfortunately, one was not above petty tricks in order to get her way.

Lydia had grown out of the desire to pull the strings and manipulate situations in order to get what she wanted long ago. Well, for the most part. There were times of course when she did it to get something she wanted out of her demonic husband, but he was a con who appreciated the bit as much as she did. Otherwise, she tried not to do it because she knew the value in proving oneself to get what one wanted. But as for Claire, well, it seemed she may have left high school but the high school clearly hadn’t yet left her. And much as her stereotypes would proceed her, Claire found a new way to be one of the most popular girls on campus, _and_ keep Lydia out of their room for as long as possible. And that was by being one of the easiest girls around.

If there can be some credit given, it was that at least Claire was courteous enough to require some article of clothing be left on the doorknob so Lydia didn’t accidentally come in and get an eyeful. Of course, that had only been established _after_ it had already happened once. And Claire had claimed that was an accident, a slip of the brain in the heat of the moment. But judging by her pisspoor acting skills it had clearly been intentional. Because Lydia getting mad at something that could be taken as an accident made _her_ look like the bad guy no matter how one sliced it. And so long as Claire remembered to leave that little sign warning her roommate, she wasn’t technically breaking any rules. Especially when none of the guys ever stayed long enough to break the visitors in the dorm rooms policy either. Claire was a bitch alright, but she could be just as sneaky and devious as Lydia herself had once been. But by the time midterms were rolling around, Lydia was seriously getting sick of it. Bad enough that she had to crash on the common room couch almost every night or risk dealing with every jackass jock asking her to join them for a threesome, bad enough she had to sneak into her own goddamn room at who knew what hours in order to get some clean clothes and stuff for classes at any given day -and god _forbid_ if she disturbed Claire’s “beauty rest”-, what was even worse was that now she had to study and with the library overcrowded it should have been the bare minimum of common decency to let Lydia have some space in her own damn room to study in peace. But trying to bring that up to Claire herself was nearly impossible.

“I can’t like, be seen going to another guy’s dorm,” she dismissed the notion with a wave of her finely manicured hand, “I mean, can you imagine what kind of message that might send to the others?”

“That you’re more of a slut than they realized?” Lydia offered through folded arms as she leaned in the doorway. Claire’s latest fling had just stumbled out the door, shirt slung over his shoulders as he attempted to button up his pants on the way out.

“Like, no, ugh, I should have like, known someone with , no social or like, sex like like you wouldn’t understand,” Claire scoffed, “If I like, go to one of _their_ rooms the others will like, totally wonder what’s so special about him that I like, went to his icky gross room! And then they’ll like, want me to meet them in _their_ rooms. And I just like, cannot. I can’t like, _even_!”

“I'm sure you can't,” Lydia remarked, seething internally. It was bad enough Claire was pulling this shit, but she had the gall to act as though there weren't plenty of other places she could go.

But then again, this wasn't about actually having sex with those guys, it was about keeping Lydia out of their room so Claire could turn it into _her_ room. Unfortunately, the school’s residential life department had a policy of not removing anyone. So all they could do was advise Lydia to move out herself. But to leave was to concede defeat, and Lydia was far too stubborn to do that. Many things about her might have matured, but her tenacity -to the point of bad judgement some might argue- had not. And so, she planned her revenge. Artistic, not personal, though it could be argued this was a little of both.

When she'd gone off to college she originally made Beetlejuice promise not to cause mischief in the house, as that was where he would be staying. She’d promised him that if he'd managed to behave himself in her absence, she would think about taking him back with her after October Break. But now, now she wanted payback, and there was no one better at revenge than Beetlejuice.

She didn't precisely _need_ him to help her plan this, merely his cooperation. And when he heard the details of what Lydia had in store for her roommate, he was all for avid and eager participation, especially since he hadn't seen (or anything else) Lydia in over a month.

It had to be carefully planned, this sort of thing. Lydia wanted Claire eating out of the palm of her hand. The best way to do that would be to plant the seed that Lydia was finally giving in. Or, at the very least, that she would be voluntarily out of their -on paper- shared living space. She told Claire that unlike _some people_ Lydia actually wanted to pass her classes and would this be sequestering herself in the library while midterms went on. Then, she waited in the common room, where Claire never bothered to go, while Beetlejuice watched their window for the blonde bitch to leave for one reason or another. The moment Claire was out the door he gave the signal and Lydia returned. Much as she’d suspected, Claire had been using the room as her entire living space, gastly pink clothes were scattered on top of the black bedding set Lydia had placed on the old twin mattress on move in day, cosmetics littered what was supposed to have been her desk, and the closet had been utterly vacated of all Lydia's clothes, replaced with more and more of Claire’s shit. Tempting as it was to simply toss all of them out the window, Lydia’s revenge was going to be much more artistic, and much more in the vein of Claire’s own medicine. Beetlejuice looked around, finally getting a good look at the place from a vantage point other than outside the window and gagging profusely.

“It’s so… _pink_ ,” he sneered, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“Believe me,” Lydia countered, “That wasn’t by my choice,” she paused a moment and then added, “I wouldn’t mind if it was like… pastel goth, but this,” she lifted a hand and shook her head helplessly.

“But then again,” Lydia turned a sly eye on her husband, “We’re not here to discuss decor, or lack thereof in this case,” she sidled up to him and yanked at his tie, “We’re here to give Claire a taste of her own medicine.”

Beetlejuice wound his arms around her, wrists at her hips and hands firmly palming her ass, “I’ll make it as bitter as I can,”

“As if anyone would expect sweet from you,”

“Only for you babes,” he purred in her ear, “Only for you,”

BJ BJ BJ

Claire was looking forward to a very content couple of days. With that freak Deetz firmly camping out in the library for stupid schoolwork it meant Claire didn’t have to coerce a guy back to her dorm room in order to keep her unwanted roommate out. Not that she didn’t enjoy the calorie burn from all the sex she was having and all the food she wasn’t eating, but it wasn’t as if any of these dolts knew how to give her that glow that made her skin look like, amazing or anything. Oh well, she had a vibrator for that. Come to think of it, she probably could have used that to begin with, but whatever, a lame loser man with a dick to spare was better. Did double duty, got Deetz out of her hair and showed her what she was always going to be missing out on. No college boy in his right mind would be into that freak. That was simply the way the world worked; girls like her were popular and beloved and successful, and freaks like Lydia Deetz would never get anywhere in life because they lacked the most important connection of all; popularity among the right people.

Imagine the look of horror and revulsion on her face when she opened the door to her seemingly quiet room to be greeted with animalistic noises and the wet, squishy sound of skin smacking together. A horrid perfume of musk and what could only be described to her refined olfactory senses as death permeated the room. And the sight. Pale and paler flesh driving against one another, it was like a continuous car accident, it was horrifying but Claire found herself frozen, and she couldn’t look away. And the sounds, the _sounds_ , cries of gross and unholy satisfaction the likes of which Claire had only heard in porn, let alone made herself. But unlike them Deetz’s noises sounded… _genuine_. Ugh, some grody older pervert was making her make sounds Claire could only _dream_ of getting from one of these assholes on campus. But what was he doing here? He looked way too old to be one of the students here, even one of those lame loser older students. Which meant… oh god, was Lydia Deetz taking it for a good grade?

But as she opened her mouth and fumbled for her phone, what came out was a scream of horror. A delayed reaction, if one would, to the sight before her. And that was when the bodies on the bed -on her _clothes_ on the bed- paused. Not froze, as though they’d been caught, but merely stopped as though they’d known they had an audience and were annoyed she’d interrupted them before they could finish. Reluctantly, that creep seemed to get off Lydia, in what felt like a blink of an eye he was dressed and heading out the door. It probably wasn’t a blink of an eye, but any sense of time was momentarily meaningless to Claire who was still somewhat in shock. Lydia remained there, sprawled out across her roommate’s clothes and looking all precious and innocent,

“Oh, Claire,” she greeted in the sweetest tone the blonde had ever heard the goth use in referral to her, “I didn’t know you were going to be back so soon,”

“You!” Claire seethed, knowing this was no sincere mistake. She’d been the one to pull that bit first and now Lydia was just trying to get back at her, “You said you were going to be at the library!”

“Did I?” Lydia asked in reply, “I don’t recall,”

“Even so,” Claire folded her arms and glared at the still naked roommate, “You like, _totally_ brought that creep back here just to get back at me!”

“What are you talking about Claire?” Lydia asked her, “Didn’t you see the tie?”

There had been absolutely no tie on the doorknob and Claire was just about to point it out and gloat when she saw the creepy older man removing from the handle and looping it back around his neck, “Ah,” he said, as he sized her up, leering but not in a way that suggested he was even remotely interested, “You must be Claire, Lydia’s told me so much about you. Normally I’d be appalled at how someone treats their roommate, but since this is all more or less due to you,” he shrugged, “If you ever want an easy A, no strings attached, come see me,” he leaned in closer to her and whispered, “It’s the _least_ I can do, after all.”

Something about it seemed less like he was mitigating his own generosity and more like he was threatening her with what would be a good time if she had didn't have a little something called standards.

Straightening back up he bid Lydia farewell, “Try to have a pleasant rest of your evening,” he told her, “And I’m sure I’ll see you in class tomorrow, won’t I _Miss Deetz_?”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” Lydia replied, cheekily adding, “ _Professor_ ,”

As the door shut behind him Claire whirled on her roommate, “Are you telling me you’re like, hooking up with a _professor_?”

“Why else do you think I was fine with you hogging our room all the time?” Lydia shrugged lackadaisically, “Professor Lawrence has a whole office and he’s always been willing to let me crash while he teaches.”

“I can’t like, even _believe_ it!” Claire wailed, “Wait until the rumor mill hears about this” she promised darkly as she immediately reached for her phone, “you’ll like, totally be expelled, and I’ll get the room all to myself, without needing to hookup with anyone to like, do it.”

“What a pity for you,” Lydia murmured in response, “And as for telling people, go ahead,”

The blase attitude about her impending social ruin due to scandal made Claire’s fingers pause, “What?”

“See, here’s the thing Claire,” Lydia smirked as she rolled over on her side, still completely at home in her own skin being on display so long as it made Claire the uncomfortable one, “You can tell people, if you like,” and then Lydia sat up and held up her hands, ”But tell me this, who’s going to believe you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave a comment and let me know what you thought. Thank you so much for reading and hopefully I'll see you tomorrow babes!

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a comment and let me know what you thought, thank you all so much for reading and I'll see you tomorrow babes!


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